let's try to take it back before it all went wrong
by How Clever of You
Summary: In which Edward and Thomas help each other heal after Dr. Clarkson allows him to stay, and Thomas falls deeply, deeply in love. Fifteen snippets. / Thomas/Edward slash. Spoilers for series 2.


_**I.**_

"...but in this hospital, I have the deciding voice!" Dr. Clarkson sits down stiffly, the bang of his weight on the chair a punctuation that hangs in the air for a moment. Thomas rolls his fingers into a fist and channels his anger down, down.

"Suppose we found a place outside the hospital to keep him," Thomas says and promptly shuts his mouth.

"We could tend to him in our spare time," Sybil urges, sparing her previous footman but a glance. "Truly, we could clear the bed for another soldier but still having Lieutenant Courtenay in our care. It will not interfere with any of the work we do under your instruction."

"Sir," Thomas adds because he knows how being reminded of his status helps appease the doctor. Predictably, Dr. Clarkson sighs.

"I suppose if you could find him another place to stay, it would be fine," he says. Sybil reaches out and squeezes Thomas' hand. Seeing this act of triumph, he raises his voice a little as he continues. "But as soon as his mental state is stable, he is to be transferred away. Neither of you are specialists in rehabilitation, let alone depression." He sits back in his chair and regards them both with disdain. "But God knows the boy seems to be happier in your care. He should recover quickly. See to it, now, both of you."

Sybil scurries out of the office grinning. Thomas bows slightly to his superior and follows her out the door.

Lieutenant Courtenay smiles brilliantly when they tell him the news.

_**II.**_

Sybil helps him locate a cot, one that is dusty and old and dreadfully uncomfortable. There are holes in the cloth and Thomas is pretty sure it's a hundred and ten years old, but he doesn't question where she found it, only thanks her graciously. He lugs it upstairs and sets it up in his bedroom. He also steals an extra set of bedding from the laundry room and prays no one notices.

Once he's sure the rest of the staff has cleared out, retiring to their own beds, he helps Lieutenant Courtenay up the stairs. He tells him in a quiet voice that he will be staying in Thomas' room during the night and will be taken back to the hospital to sit in a chair during the hours he cannot be given special care.

Courtenay asks where his roommate is and Thomas says, "His name is Mr. Bates. He's off at war." He can't tell if the Lieutenant knows he's lying; he can't see his face in the dark hallway. They're on an even playing field here. He regrets that thought immediately.

"And he really won't mind me using his bed?" He sounds genuinely concerned. Thomas pushes open the door and abandons Courtenay briefly on the threshold to turn on the light.

"He won't mind at all," Thomas assures him, placing his walking stick between the two beds. Once Courtenay is settled, he takes the wooden chair in the corner of the room and shoves it against the door. His dignity decidedly does not need a wakeup call.

Thomas lays down on the cot and reaches out to flick off the light. "Goodnight, sir," he says, then the room is drenched in darkness.

_**III.**_

He knows Lieutenant Courtenay is quite well enough to wash himself by this point but neither of them say anything as Thomas wheels him outside. With the privacy the building provides, Thomas helps him strip down and climb into the bath, nothing more than a big wooden tub round the back of the hospital. Courtenay has the decency to look mildly embarrassed and Thomas won't let his eyes dip lower than the pale protrusion of the soldier's belly.

Thomas rubs down his back with the sponge, brushing away all the dirt that's gathered since his last proper bath. Courtenay stays quiet, glazed eyes staring straight ahead. He grunts every so often when Thomas comes across one of the burns or blisters. He doesn't move much at all until Thomas moves the sponge across his inner thigh; then he jumps and clears his throat, looking away quite resolutely.

"Perfectly natural," Thomas says, almost subconsciously. He's not sure if it's for his benefit or for Courtenay's and does not acknowledge the tightening of his trousers. When he's done, he wrings out the sponge and threads his fingers through the curls on the top of Courtenay's head. "Hold your breath, now," he instructs, and dips the soldier beneath the water.

Thomas exhales sharply and lets the Lieutenant rise to the top again, his hair wet and plastered to his face. He gasps and goes to rub the water out of his eyes, then thinks better of it and lets Thomas dab the moisture away with a hand towel. Courtenay grips Thomas' wrist, keeping the cloth pressed against his face as he whispers, "Thank you."

_**IV.**_

When Edward slides his palm against Thomas', he gets this little smile on his fact like he knows what Thomas is thinking. It's moments like that when Thomas thanks God he can't.

It's a sunny Saturday afternoon and Thomas is at the hospital keeping watch over the soldiers. Nurse Sybil has taken up most of the staff to start changing the main house into a convalescent home, the brainchild of herself and Captain Crawley's mother. Edward is borrowing one of the few vacant beds and Thomas is sitting beside him, the fingers of his good hand pushed beneath the blankets and tracing subtle patterns on the back of his hand.

Edward is telling some anecdote about the butcher back in his home village and Thomas is listening intently when a woman appears at the foot of the bed. She's dressed smartly in gray but it isn't hard to tell she's not of the higher class. Her hair is piled atop her head but she has no hat. Thomas jumps up at full attention, causing Edward to trail off.

"M'am," Thomas says, more for the benefit of Edward than anything else. If he could, he would tell her to sod right off.

"Eddie," she says a little bit breathily, not paying Thomas much mind, and rounds the other side of the bed. She sinks down atop the blanket and looks like she's about to touch Edward's face until Thomas clears his throat. She glances his way and drops her hand. "Eddie, it's Mummy."

"Mum?" he asks and reaches out to grasp her hands in his. "Mum, are you – why are you here?" He glances over in the direction he knows Thomas is standing. Mrs. Courtenay regards Thomas in a way that is not unkind but also not very welcoming either.

"And you are?" she asks a little curtly, and Thomas puts his hat back on his head.

"Corporal Barrow," he replies, not quite meeting her gaze. "I'm part of Dr. Clarkson's team of medics. I've been keeping your son company, m'am."

"Corporal Barrow is a good friend," Edward says carefully. His eyes sweep over the room, unseeing. He closes them. "He and Nurse Sybil have been taking good care of me, Mum."

"Where is this Nurse Sybil?" she asks. "I would very much like to thank her."

"She's in the main house, m'am," Thomas says. "She won't return until after dinner."

"Very well. Please send her over when she gets back."

"Yes, m'am." Thomas lurches forward with an aborted movement, then places his hand heavily on Edward's shoulder. To his mother, it is a friendly gesture; but Thomas makes sure to swipe his little finger carefully over Edward's bony shoulder blade. Edward looks up at him with a fond expression, almost like he wants to ask Thomas to stay and Thomas wants very, very desperately to kiss him. Instead, he gives his shoulder a firm squeeze. "If you need anything, sir, just call."

_**V.**_

Just like everyone else, Miss O'Brien knows full well about the soldier staying in Thomas' room but she does not say a thing. She doesn't even properly meet him until Thomas sits them both down at the table for dinner. The other servants regard him with a quiet respect. Nobody is quite sure how to act, half because he's a soldier and half because Thomas has never brought a friend round before.

"So, Lieutenant Courtenay," Mr. Carson finally booms from the head of the table. Edward leans forward slightly and looks in the general direction of the butler's voice. Thomas touches his kneecap lightly beneath the table and drenches a piece of bread in his stew. "How are you enjoying your stay at Downton?"

"Very well, sir," Edward replies. "Everyone here is so kind and welcoming. I owe a lot to Nurse Sybil and Corporal Barrow. I don't know where I'd be without them." He smiles kind of sadly and looks down at his bowl. "Please tell Mrs. Patmore the stew is lovely."

After that, conversation flows a little more easily. Everyone seems to enjoy Edward's presence, Thomas most of all. While Anna regales one of her many tales about working for Lady Mary, Thomas just watches Edward, who is smiling and laughing and looking the happiest he's been since they met.

He looks away for a moment to dig the matches out of his pocket and catches O'Brien staring. He flushes a little bit, embarrassed to be found looking at the soldier with such vulnerable affection. Even worse, he can feel it on his face, that soft expression he knows he gets when he's smitten. She raises her eyebrows and he rolls his upper lip.

Daisy starts to clear away the table and Thomas lights up. He offers a drag to Edward even though he knows he'll refuse it. He feels so warm and comfortable following the hearty meal, the secret of Edward's fingers twisted into the hem of his shirt. He gets stupid, staring at William staring at Daisy, and makes a biting remark that has everyone at the table turning to look at him.

Edward's fingers disappear from Thomas' side.

"Thomas," Mrs. Hughes says sharply. He just looks at her and takes another drag on his cigarette, ignoring that his heart is pounding nearly out of his chest. He wishes he could take it back. He doesn't look at Edward. O'Brien smirks at him from across the table, but he's certain she can't sense the unrest stirring within his stomach.

"I think I'm ready to go on up to bed," Edward says carefully, like he's walking on eggshells. "Do you all mind if we excuse ourselves?"

"Not at all," Mrs. Hughes says, her voice kind, but she's staring at Thomas with hatred in her eyes. "Have a good night, dear."

"You as well." He pushes himself up and guides himself away, his stick tap tap tapping on every surface. Uneasy conversation starts up again and Thomas stays where he's sitting to finish his cigarette. It isn't until he hears Edward approaching the stairs that he too stands, stubbing out his fag on the table top.

"Evening, all," he says off-handedly, but no one returns the nicety. He catches up with Edward, who is stubbornly trying to navigate the staircase.

"Why must you be so nasty?" he asks in a low voice as Thomas brackets his arms on the wall and the bannister, ready to move into action should Edward miss a step.

"I'm not a good person, Edward," he responds quietly, stomach churning, as he steadies Thomas with a touch to the hip. He hopes desperately that nobody follows them. They reach the first landing. "I wish I could say otherwise." Edward surprises him by turning around and looking down from the step above.

"But you are," he says. "You fought for me to stay here before you knew me and you kept me here after you did. And don't say it's because I'm soldier because it's not."

Thomas stares at him for a moment at loss for words before giving him a light shove. "Let's talk upstairs."

When they make it to the empty hall, Thomas pushes him back against the wall and presses flush against him, their foreheads touching. He breathes erratically into Edward's space for a moment before he can speak.

"I got myself shot," he confesses, his voice cracking. He squeezes his eyes shut because he can't stand to see the look on Edward's face. "I got myself shot so I could come back home because I was scared. Oh, God, I was scared."

"I know," he whispers back, fingers tightening around the wrist of Thomas' bad hand. "I knew from the start. I didn't – I would rather be a coward than this, Thomas. You fought and it was too much for you. I understand that. I fought through my fear and look where it got me."

"I'd rather be wounded honorably than shot in the hand because of my own cowardice. I would rather be shot bloody in the field and left to die alone than have to tell you what a coward I am."

"Thomas," Edward says a little bit desperately and pushes his thumb up the line of his jaw. "Tell me what you look like."

Thomas swallows back a choking sound that he vehemently refuses to acknowledge as a sob and exhales heavily. His voice shakes when he speaks. "I've got broad shoulders. I'm a little bit shorter than you." He tries to lighten the mood by smiling even though he knows it'll go unseen. He's blinking rapidly. "I'm rather handsome –"

"What color are your eyes?"

There are footsteps on the stairs behind them and Thomas stumbles away, wiping irritably at the tears on his face. Mr. Carson appears. He glances between them but doesn't confirm what he probably already knows.

"I'd like you to apologize to Daisy and William, Thomas," he says. "What an awful thing to say."

"Yes, sir," he says because he so desperately wants to be better for Edward. Mr. Carson looks vaguely surprised.

"All right, then." He furrows his brow and worries his bottom lip like this exchange hadn't gone quite as he had expected. He nods. "Have a good evening, boys."

_**VI.**_

Edward is sitting on a chair next to the dresser while Thomas shaves him. Thomas rinses the razor off in the basin to his right and uses the other hand (glove off) to smear more of the shaving foam on his face. The room is quiet except for the quiet swish of the water and the distant bustle of the kitchen staff downstairs. Thomas has a lump in his throat and he's craving a cigarette but he puts all of his concentration into giving Edward a clean shave. He nicks him by accident on the jaw and quickly presses against it as Edward hisses through his teeth.

"Sorry, sorry." He wipes the blood off on the towel draped around Edward's shoulders. "You'll be fine. It'll just smart for a while."

"What do you put on your cuts?" Edward asks after a moment.

"I used to just let it sit." Thomas tilts his chin up with two fingers so he can shave his throat. "On the battlefield, one of the medics I served with used mouthwash. Hurts like hell but it does the trick."

"I'd quite like to see you do that sometime," he replies as if they're on the telephone, making plans to meet. As if he'd be able to one day see Thomas put Listerine on his cuts. As if he would ever see him do anything.

Thomas clears his throat resolutely and wipes away the remaining soap with the towel. Then he inspects his work, turning Edward's face with one hand. When he's satisfied, he drops the blade in the water basin and tosses the towel into the corner. Then he moves very close, nudging Edward's cheek with his nose to let him know he's there.

"My eyes are blue," he whispers against the shell of his ear, and leaves it at that.

_**VII.**_

Thomas thinks about him a lot. He can't count the nights he's lied awake listening to the sound of Edward's soft breathing. He wonders what it would be like to kiss him. To put his fingers against Edward's jaw and feel it work against Thomas' own mouth.

This thought keeps him awake. He stares into the darkness until he can see the outline of Edward, one hand hanging over the bed and the other clamped against his chest. Thomas wonders what it would be like to kiss the pulse point of his wrist.

He doesn't do anything about it. Their intimacies are secluded to the abyss of Thomas' mind during the dark night. He imagines the two of them in the grass, their knees stained green. He images leaning over and saying, "I'm going to kiss you now," because he doesn't want to take advantage of Edward ever, ever, and Edward not saying anything, just leaning back into the kiss, his mouth soft and pliant and so very much worth the wait.

"You make me feel like such a dumb schoolboy," he says once, aloud by accident. He immediately clamps his mouth shut, hoping to God that Edward has already fallen asleep and missed his confession.

No such luck. "How so?" The words stick in his throat. "Thomas, I might be blind, but I'm not deaf. I can hear your nervous breathing over there." There's a smile in his voice like he's _enjoying this._

"You make me nervous," he finally chokes out, then immediately regrets it because of Edward's silence. His whole body is flushed hot in a particularly unpleasant way. His face burns painfully. "I feel unsure and stupid and all fluttery on the inside sometimes and, oh god, forget everything I just said. Especially the schoolboy bit. I'm a _girl._"

Edward chuckles and Thomas plots the best way to kill himself. "I give you butterflies?"

"Shut up," he says into his pillow. He's getting heatstroke from the flaming warmth of his own face. "Get your rest, now."

"I give you _butterflies_," he repeats gleefully. Thomas wonders how long it would take to smother himself.

_**VIII.**_

Edward makes the first move.

They've made their way out across the grounds of Downton and are sitting at the base of a secluded tree, facing away from the house. Thomas is telling Edward about growing up as a clockmaker's son and playing with his matches half-heartedly with no real intention of smoking. Edward smiles and laughs lightly every so often. Then Thomas trails off and they sit in a companionable silence. Thomas looks out over the fields beyond, vaguely aware of Edward playing with the fabric of the hat sitting between them.

Edward says, "Corporal Barrow," and Thomas hums in response. Edward shifts closer and he's just about to turn his head when Edward's mouth connects with the shell of his ear. Thomas turns fully to see Edward blushing brilliantly, his cheekbones burning bright pink. His eyes are widened but his brow is furrowed; his mouth is working aimlessly as he stutters out an apology like he's just been caught doing something awful. Thomas thinks he looks quite handsome.

He kisses Edward on the mouth.

_**IX.**_

Edward has mastered the use of his white cane and now takes it upon himself to mentally map out the rooms in the hospital, the servant's quarters, and everywhere in between. Thomas is trying to coax one of the patients into taking his medicine while thumbing through Dr. Clarkson's notes, trying to find something to make another patient more comfortable.

Edward is on the other side of the room, _click click click click click. _At first it was a little humorous to see him tapping everything. Thomas had to excuse himself more than once to calm down after Edward came across one of the other soldiers, giving them a right tap on the head. But it had been going on for three days, nonstop, and Thomas can't take it anymore.

"Lieutenant Courtenay," he calls flatly. "If you don't stop that tapping I am going to shove that stick right down that pale throat of yours."

The noise stops abruptly and Thomas looks up to see Edward beaming.

"Is that a promise, Sir?"

_**X.**_

They're making out in the field beneath their tree. Edward has Thomas' hands pinned up above his head, inches from where one of His Lordship's books lay forgotten. Thomas is well aware that he's gasping like a hot maid, making embarrassingly yearning sounds that he will not admit to _anyone_, but the whole length of Edward's lithe body is practically grounding him into the grass and oh god it's been so, so long.

Their mouths break apart as Thomas arches his back. "I want – I want –"

Edward makes quick work of his belt (Thomas doesn't think he has the brain cells left to feel impressed) and is about to pull down his trousers when Thomas reaches out, grasping Edward's shoulder. "Wait, wait, I want –"

"I've never done this before," he answers clumsily, then reaches up and puts his mouth against Thomas' neck. "But I'll try, for you, I'll try."

Thomas wants to say no, wants their first time to be somewhere exquisite where he can make Edward feel like a king. He had the Duke in a bed and Edward is worth a million of him. He wants it to be special because Edward deserves to _be_ somewhere special. Thomas would move the sun and the moon for him and he wants to do this proper, somewhere with bed sheets and pillows and a blanket to wrap them in once they've finished. Thomas knows how this works, he knows how it's done, and he wants _more._

Edward tugs down Thomas' trousers.

"Okay, I don't know where I am right now, so here's hoping" – Thomas opens his eyes with some difficulty to see Edward ducking down. His mouth connects with the skin just above Thomas' knee and he swears, pulling himself back up. Thomas laughs and laughs and laughs and then Edward finally gets it right, reaches what he wants, and _oh._

_**XI.**_

Thomas is lying on the cot half-asleep, dozing comfortably. It's been a long, long day and he's just grateful he's back in his own bedroom. He's been on the late shift the past few nights and has seen even more unspeakable horrors, the kind that makes one aware just how lucky they are to be breathing.

"There's no Mr. Bates, is there?" Edward asks conversationally as if they're having mid-afternoon tea. Thomas startles out of his daze. He grumbles sleepily but the sounds are ignored. "I mean, there must be because everyone is always going on about him. Especially Anna. But he didn't share this room with you, did he? And he's not off at war either?"

"Mr. Bates is the condescending bastard valet of His Lordship," Thomas grouses into his pillow. His dreams were warm but reality is cold. "He slept down the hall until he ran away to be with his crazy wife, abandoning little Miss Anna Smith who I suppose was his mistress. Apparently he's back in the county now, wifeless and working at a pub."

Edward hums in interest. "Who usually gets the other bed, then?"

"Hmm?" The implications slowly begin to dawn on Thomas.

"Where'd the cot come from, Thomas?"

Thomas sits up and swings his feet over to the side so he can look at Edward's silhouette. He can't see much but the grin in Edward's voice is evident.

"You think you're so clever," he tells him and Edward laughs. "How did you figure it out?"

"The white cane helped quite a bit. Then I overheard Anna and Mrs. Hughes talking about a Mr. Bates. It was implied that Anna and he are romantically acquainted, but you just confirmed it."

"What does Anna have to do with any of this?"

"Well," he says, "I think it would be a bit difficult to keep your sleeping in Mr. Bates' bed a secret, especially if he fancies one of the maids."

"What are you on about?"

"The bed smells like you. The blankets, the pillow – all of it smells like your soap."

Thomas doesn't know what he's expected to say to that so he sits silently.

"You've been sleeping on a cot this whole time, you daft man. No wonder your back's been hurting."

"It didn't seem right to keep the bed to myself while Your Blindness slept on a block of wood."

"Thomas," he says, sounding awed. "Get over here, you loon."

_**XII.**_

Sometimes, selfishly, Thomas is glad Edward is blind.

Like this, he can't see how scared Thomas is. He can't see how much of a failure he was and still very much is. He doesn't know what he would do if Edward could see who he is – this hateful, angry, nasty man who in no way deserves the kindness Edward gives him.

Edward makes quick friends with Daisy. Sometimes he'll elect to stay in the kitchens with her rather than go up to see patients with Thomas. Daisy will grab a stool and sit him in the corner out where he can talk and be talked to without being much in the way. On these mornings, Thomas is glad Edward can't see him hover in the doorway before finally, finally leaving the servants' quarters.

Thomas comes down one afternoon after a long morning shift with Lady Sybil, who asks him incessant questions about Edward that make him more and more irritated. Edward is standing with Daisy at the table, both of them kneading bread dough. She's instructing him as if she actually knows what she's doing and he's following her directions. The shirtsleeves of his white day shirt are rolled up to his elbows and he has flour on his chin and all up and down his pale arms. He's grinning like he's the happiest person in the world and Thomas stops just outside the doorway, heart stuttering in his chest.

He could never make Edward that happy. Even if he wanted to. And God, does he want to.

He would have stayed there longer, watching this picturesque moment he's not quite ready to intrude on (or be a part of), but Miss Patmore bustles in, knocking past him with a huge pot. "Thomas, don't just stand in the doorway like a lump on a long. Aren't you meant to be somewhere?"

Daisy and Edward look up and he smiles even wider. It makes Thomas' stomach flop.

"Thomas!" Edward says gleefully. "Daisy's giving me lessons and I helped make the bread for dinner."

"He's a right good cook, too," Daisy tells him eagerly. "I'd be worried for me job if he could see half'a what he's doing."

"Daisy!" Miss Patmore says, scandalized, but Edward is laughing.

"Thomas, come here," he calls. Thomas does as he's told, heart thumping in his chest. He's so glad Edward can't see him right now. Daisy can, though, and gives him a small smile before busying herself on the other side of the kitchen. Edward grips his shoulder once he's close enough and rubs his knuckles against the side of Thomas' neck. He can feel the grittiness of the flour there. "Are they all gone?" he whispers.

Thomas feels warm under the collar of his uniform but not in a good way. He glances over Edward's shoulder. Mrs. Patmore has ushered Daisy into the pantry and is loudly explaining the recipe they're attempting that night. Thomas feels embarrassed and grateful and incredibly dumb. "They've all left."

"Good," he says, and kisses him. "Don't think I can't feel the nervous energy pouring off of you. Come on, now. What's the problem?"

Thomas doesn't see any reason to beat around the bush because the end is inevitable. He keeps an eye on the door and speaks in a fast whisper. "I can't make you happy like you should be happy. I'm – I'm useless and I'm awful and I'm angry and I don't deserve your attention even for a moment. And that in itself scares me because" – Thomas cuts himself off.

"Do you really think I'm going to give up on you?" Edward laughs, but not in a degrading way. It's almost as if he's shocked. "Thomas, you read to me even though you despise the books I like and you tell me what color the sky is every morning. You gave me your bed because you didn't want me to sleep on a cot and you shave me and you" – he lowers his voice and Thomas catches the pink blooming high on his cheeks – "you _bathe _me and you go out of your way to do all these silly little things that make me feel like _I'm_ the Lord here, not Grantham. You don't have to do any of this because as you can probably tell I'm very much in a stable state of mind. And do you know why that is? Do you know why I'm so happy?"

Thomas starts to protest but Edward shakes him a bit by the shoulders.

"It's because of _you_. You make me so, so happy in ways I never thought I could ever be. You took a simple farm boy soldier and showed him that life does not end when his sight goes." He smoothes a hand through Thomas' hair, tugging on the clump that's come ungelled and is hanging in front of his eyes. "And from what I've heard, you've changed as well. You're not so nasty anymore."

"I still say awful things," Thomas argues half-heartedly. Edward shakes his head. "When you're not around, I'm not good. But I want to be. For you."

"You're already good," he replies. "Nobody is always nice. I'm certainly not."

"But everyone loves you. It's nothing if you're mean once in a while, but I've been here almost ten years. I was so scared that they would kick me around too that I became the bully. They hate me, but at least they're not making fun of me."

Edward grips his elbow. "It's time to ask for forgiveness, then."

_**XIII.**_

Thomas steals him away after dinner one night and takes him into the semi-darkness of the courtyard. Edward laughs like they're going to get up to something naughty next to the woodpile but Thomas guides him down onto the ground and sits down next to him.

"You've got post," he says, waving the envelopes at Edward like a hand fan. "Nurse Sybil gave it to me earlier and asked if I couldn't pass it along."

"Open it up, then," Edward urges. "Come on, now, don't keep a man waiting."

Thomas laughs and lights up, holding the cigarette in his mouth as he tears open the first one. He takes a deep drag and lets out the smoke as he speaks. "This one's from your mum. 'Dearest Eddie: I write to you in hopes that you are in good health and spirits. I hope to be able to visit soon, though I hope even more that you will be able to come home. Everyone in town misses our farm boy hero. Your father just bought a new calf and we are eager for the two of you to meet. I've heard from Jack and he's doing well. Everyone wishes you the best. Love as always, your mother.'"

Edward curses out Jack for a solid minute while Thomas watches, a small grin on his lips. Finally, Edward sighs and reaches out for Thomas to pass over his cigarette. "Who's the next one from, then?"

"You look good with that," Thomas says instead, admiring the view. Edward grins and lets the smoke escape from between his lips. "'Edward – I wish I could explain to you what I feel when I see you. My stomach twists and turns and I feel lightheaded and unworthy of your affections. But that does not stop me from imagining you touching my face tenderly and whispering into my ear.'"

"Who's written that to me?" Edward interrupts, his brow furrowed.

Thomas laughs and flaps the paper at him. "Hold on, hold on, there's more. 'I do not wish to carry your picture because I want you always by my side. It pains me to think of the horrors you witnessed on the battlefield but I hope to erase those memories word by word, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. You have made me a better person and I wish to repay you in ways I do not believe possible.' Sounds like one of your romance novels to me."

Edward swats him. "Oh, hush. You read them to me; you must not mind them too much. Go on. What's it signed?"

"It's signed – this writing is horrid, Lord – 'I will continue to love you until the day I die.' Signed, T." He snatches his cigarette back and sucks on the end of it nervously. "I wonder who that could be," he says, words stifled slightly as the fag bounces in his mouth. "Do you have a bird back home? Are you hiding something from me?"

"You clot," Edward says fondly. "If we weren't out in the open I would maul you like a bear right now."

"Bloody," he jokes. His hands are still shaking. He glances around the courtyard and drops his voice. "You know, there's a perfectly functioning bedroom upstairs where a medic and a soldier reside, though I'm quite sure it's vacated at the moment."

"We must be off, then," he replies, accepting Thomas' hand up. They enter back through the pantry and Thomas peers out a crack in the door, trying to find the best route of escape. Edward grabs him by the elbows and crowds him back against the wall. He presses kiss after kiss against Thomas' mouth, cheek, and along his jawbone until he reaches his ear. He kisses the lobe gently and whispers, "I love you more than anyone I have met in my life. Thomas Barrow, I will adore you until the blood in my veins runs dry."

_**XIV.**_

The war ends and the convalescent home is dissolved. Thomas spends the next two weeks helping clean everything up and filling in as footman, trying to help wherever he can. Edward hangs out in the kitchens doing simple kitchen maid work much to the dismay of Mrs. Patmore, who squawks and waves her arms at him whenever she finds him there. "We can't pay you!" she tells him, trying to steer him away. He always responds with, "The kindness you all have shown me is payment enough." Mrs. Patmore seems to melt a little whenever he says this and Thomas – Thomas can relate.

Then everything is gone and there's nothing more Thomas can do. He knew the time would come, but now that's it's here… he's not quite sure he's ready to leave the safety of what had been his home for almost a decade.

It's a quiet night, the first in a long while. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson are in Carson's office, chatting and laughing and Thomas isn't sure whether he's going to ruin the mood or improve it. He pauses in the doorway and fidgets with his glove before rapping lightly with his knuckles. They both look up.

"I was wondering if I couldn't say something."

"But of course, Thomas." Mrs. Hughes turns her chair so she's facing him and Mr. Carson puts down the wine he's distilling.

"I… I feel like it's quite time for me to be going." They both look surprised, but he doesn't know how to interpret that. "There's a school for the blind over the pond and it's supposed to be exemplary. Edward, he, uh, he attended Oxford before the war. We decided we probably need a little bit of normalcy back in our lives."

"I don't know what to say," Carson says. "I almost long for the days when I could say 'don't let the door hit you on the way out.' But we've really enjoyed the company of Lieutenant Courtenay, and you both have been a great help. You're a changed man."

Mrs. Hughes rises and approaches him, resting a hand lightly on his arm. "Lieutenant Courtney has done you a great deal of good for you. I admire the man you have become. You should be proud." She gives him a watery smile and he feels vaguely horrified.

Uncomfortable, he clears his throat. "We're going to say our proper goodbyes in the morning, then we'll visit his parents in Leichester for a bit while we sort out the tickets and such. I just wanted you two to be the first to know."

Mrs. Hughes squeezes his arm. "Thank you, Thomas. I never thought I would be saying these words, but we'll miss you around here. Both of you. Please do keep us in the know on how you both are doing."

"We will." He sets his shoulders back and nods, ready to leave. He may be different than he was before the war, but he's still not comfortable with this sort of intimacy. He turns to go then stops suddenly.

"Is there something else, Thomas?" Carson asks.

He nods again and faces them. "Did you ever hate me because I'm" – he cuts himself off. Nobody had ever acknowledged it before; everyone had just seemed to know. But it had been bugging him for years and had become worse once he'd brought Edward 'round. "Because I'm queer?"

"We've turned a blind eye for this long," Carson says gruffly after a moment. "Let's not air out one's dirty laundry now that it doesn't matter."

Mrs. Hughes smiles at him as he retreats. He closes the door gently behind him and stands for a moment, listening to the voices start up again on the opposite side. Then he heads out the back door, keen on having a cigarette before going up for the night.

Miss O'Brien is smoking in the doorway and raises her eyebrow when he joins her. He lights up and takes a drag, and they both watch the smoke rise from his mouth and disappear into the night sky.

"You're going, then?" she asks neutrally. He doesn't ask how she knows, just nods. "I had faith in you, boy. Never thought you'd be one to take the easy way out."

Thomas scoffs. "Excuse me?"

"You're no different than any of the housemaids who have come through here. The second you think you've fallen in love, you run away to get married. I thought you were better than that."

Thomas just looks at her. He chooses his next words carefully. "I hardly think we're off to marry."

"Of course not. You'd be arrested at the doors – that is, if he could find them."

Thomas feels the anger start to spread down his arms but ignores it, clenches the muscles there. "Why must you be such a nasty woman, Miss O'Brien? Love is the most wonderful feeling in the world. It must be lonely to be without it."

"You would know." She turns and looks straight into his face as if daring him to say something else.

Thomas turns and walks away.

_**XV.**_

He pauses once outside the door to his bedroom, listening to the distant, muffled sounds of the rest of the staff cleaning up downstairs. Through the glass of the separator door, he can see Anna slip out of her room, dressed in pajamas, heading down to the bathroom. He eases his door open.

Edward is laying curled on the bed in one of Thomas' sleep shirts. He opens his eyes when Thomas enters the room and pulls himself upright, smiling sleepily.

"How did it go?" he asks, stifling a yawn. Thomas takes off his jacket, drapes it over the chair, and sinks down on the bed. Edward touches Thomas' jaw with one hand, following the line of his bottom lip with his thumb as his mouth curves into a smile. "I told you it would go well! Don't say I didn't tell you."

Thomas laughs despite himself and moves Edward's hand from his face. He kisses the knuckles delicately, one by one, then presses Edward's fist against his temple. "I love you a foolish amount, do you know that?"

"I've heard rumors." His eyes wander across Thomas' face. He lowers his voice and Thomas lets out a sleepy breath. "I love you too, you fool."


End file.
